Girl on the Wing of a Barnstormer
by perpetual.self
Summary: So basically, dating Rich is like going to rehab. Annie's taking the cure, and the addiction is Jeff Winger, and the cure is Rich. Chapter two posted 11/29/10. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Rich asks her out on a date, Annie accepts him.

"Great!" he grins at her acquiescence, gracious even though she hadn't considered refusing him, and he knows it. It's obvious that Rich believes enthusiastic responses from young women to be part of the natural order of things.

Annie should resent it, but he follows up by telling her about the coffee shop he plans to take her to, and makes a show of putting his number in her phone under "A-Rich" so that his name will be at the top. "And then maybe you won't forget about me," he tells her with a smile guaranteed to flatter and inspire confidence.

She can feel herself blossoming like a flower under the sunshine of Rich's attention. He's no Jeff Winger: he's better than Jeff Winger, an improved and evolved edition, with morals and empathy and a solid work ethic and a real professional degree from an American university.

"This Wednesday at five, don't forget!" Rich pats her on the shoulder before he leaves the classroom, a casual touch that still manages to be proprietary, as if a planned date gives him the right to touch her. She doesn't mind; in fact, she leans into his hand and smiles at his back until he's gone.

Worst of all, Annie has to admit to herself that she does it because of Jeff Winger. Evidently, Annie Adderall is also a masochist, a girl who, in spite of being scorned and pushed away and informed that she's young and silly, is still infatuated with her tormenter.

It's a sick craving. Sure, there are times she's not thinking about him, like when she's studying or sleeping or having dinner with her family, but then she goes back to Greendale and he's _there_, flirting with Britta and eyeing every skirt on campus and either scrupulously avoiding her or chastising her like an older male relative.

So basically, dating Rich is like going to rehab. She's taking the cure, and the addiction is Jeff Winger, and the cure is Rich.

* * *

"That dude?" Troy says around a mouthful of tuna salad sandwich. He's stranded on his side of the table with his offensive lunch, abandoned even by Abed, and the rest of them are clustered around Annie and Jeff.

"Yes," Annie answers, snapping shut her three-ring binder. She'd seen no point in hiding her plans with Rich from the rest of the group. She'd wanted to know how they'd react.

Hating herself, she glances over at Jeff. She knows he heard her announcement, but he didn't react aside from the lip-curling sneer he always gets whenever Rich is mentioned.

"That's so nice!" Shirley pats Annie's hand, beaming.

"If you like boring old guys." Troy fishes around his mouth, grimacing, and withdraws a large piece of eggshell, which he pretends to flick at Britta.

"Sick, Troy. I will not have my personal space invaded with animal products!" She gets up and heads for him, vengeance in her eyes.

"Hey, my _grandma_ made this sandwich for me. I know you love her. Wanna bite?"

Abed's restraining a squirming Britta and the sandwich is in the trash before the group settles down again.

"That's it, then?" Annie demands when she thinks she can make herself heard.

"What's it?" Pierce asks. "What'd I miss?"

"Rich! I'm going out with Rich!"

"And?" he prompts, waving his new plastic leg scratcher around.

"Where's the fury? When you guys found out I – well – that Jeff and I kissed, it was like the end of the world in here, all shrieking and Chris Hansen quotes and offended morality. Rich is older than Jeff! Doesn't anyone care?"

"Eh, we all know you've got a ladyboner for older guys. Call me when you work your way to the top," Pierce says.

"Ugh!" Annie stomps her foot and collapses back into her chair with disgust.

"Oh, Annie," Shirley soothes. "Of course we care! It's just that Rich is such a nice, trustworthy young man! You two would be perfect for each other, and - " her eyes go to Britta, and she doesn't continue, but smiles again and strokes Annie's shoulder.

"Yeah," Britta chimes in, using the soothing, less-sardonic tone of voice she has when she wants to sound sympathetic. "Rich seems great! You guys'll probably have lots of fun together."

"I can contribute a shriek if you think that's what's missing," Abed says.

"What does Jeff think?" Troy turns to him, eyes narrowed in one of his moments of uncanny prescience.

Jeff doesn't lift his head from his Blackberry. "The conversation wasn't about me, so I got bored."

"This conversation is stinking up the room. Later, nerdballs." Pierce huffs into his straw, maneuvering his wheelchair toward the door.

"He's right! It does stink in here now!"

"That would be your fetid sandwich, Troy," Britta sniffs.

They follow Pierce out, squabbling all the way.

* * *

Before eating his slice of carrot cake, Rich divides it into neat quadrants, smoothing down the cream cheese frosting that his knife disrupted. "In case we want to share," he says in response to her quizzical look. "Plus, I don't want to eat it all. Watching my carb intake." He pats his flat stomach.

Annie thinks that this should work perfectly.

"Tell me about yourself, Annie," he says, cheek dimpling as he smiles. "I know that you're way too smart to be at Greendale, I know you have an appreciation for the arts, and I know that you have an interesting group of friends, but that's it. What's your story?"

"Well, I'm still researching degree programs while I finish my basic courses at Greendale, and I'm involved in a lot of extra curriculars so that my resume will look good when I transfer." She smiles up at him, then drops her eyes back to her cup of coffee.

"Sounds good. Keep the University of New Mexico in mind while you're researching schools. It's a great choice, and I'm not just saying that because it's my alma mater. I've got connections there too, so tell me if you're thinking of it, and I can help you out."

Annie thanks him.

Rich fiddles with his cake again, and Annie's attention is drawn to his hands, with their broad palms, short, thick fingers, and ragged cuticles. They're the hands of a capable man, one who performs surgery and soothes the sick and creates art in his spare time. She thinks of Jeff's hands. They aren't flawed by so much as pen callus, and she doubts he ever does anything with them aside from playing with his phone.

"Annie?" Rich asks. "Do you want to try my cake? You're staring at it."

"Pardon? Oh, no thank you. I was just thinking – could you tell me more about medical school? I'm still considering that as a career."

That gets Rich talking, and Annie only needs to nod and smile at appropriate moments to keep him going. She's honestly interested in the medical profession, and Rich is giving her a lot of useful information, but her mind wanders and her eyes dart again and again to a clock on the wall.

She thinks back to how he's acted so far that evening. He's been polite, holding doors and pulling out chairs and offering to pay even though she insisted that they go dutch. Shirley is right: he _is_ a very nice man, and Annie knows she shouldn't judge him by one boring first date.

At six-thirty (he's also very punctual; she'd told him she needed to be home by seven), Rich walks her back to her car through a parking lot darkened by an early winter sunset.

"I had a lot of fun. We should do this again," he smiles.

"You're right, we should."

He takes a step closer to her, and Annie lifts her face expectantly. Rich bends and kisses her cheek, and she's waiting for the hot, full-body flush of excitement and adrenaline that she feels every time Jeff touches her, but – nothing. She feels nothing.

She looks up at Rich and only just stops herself from asking him to do it again, because this isn't how it's supposed to work! Annie hasn't felt this defrauded since the time her alarm clock stopped in the middle of the night and she'd woken up only an hour before class started.

Rich seems to sense her distress. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, fine!"

When he suggests that they meet again in a week and a half to see a movie, she agrees.

* * *

Being irritated with Jeff has never been difficult for Annie, but it's even easier now, and the next day in the study room when he asks her for a set of her Calculus notes from when she'd taken the class the previous spring, she explodes.

"You want my _notes_, Jeff? Because I'm so happy to go home and find them and pay to make copies of them and hand them to you with what, a curtsy and a smile? How many credit hours are you taking this semester? Twelve, right? That's the bare minimum to be considered a full-time student, but I guess expecting you to do your own work like the rest of us is just too demanding!"

"Whoa," Britta says.

"Time to bring out the chocolate, Abed," Pierce says, but Abed shakes his head, perplexed.

Shirley starts to get out of her chair in order to move to Annie's side, but Jeff frowns at her and she subsides.

"Fine, Annie," Jeff says, tone neutral and face blank. "You're our go-to resource around here, but I'm sure I can find what I need elsewhere."

"Copies are ten cents a page at the library now!" That fact seems very important to her at the moment.

Jeff doesn't speak to her again until the study session is over, but as everyone leaves, he hangs back, and when she attempts to scurry around him he blocks her path.

"_What_?" she demands.

He looks behind them, making sure the rest of the group is out of earshot, then grinds out through clenched teeth, "Annie, get off my case."

"Your case?" She knows she's being obtuse.

"Stop lecturing me in front of the group. How many credit hours I'm taking and how I study is none of your business."

"It is when you expect me to pick up your slack!"

Again Annie tries to dodge him and leave the room, but he catches her wrist in his hand and pulls her back. Their eyes lock, and there it is – even a touch that slight sends her pulse skittering. She can't hide her shiver, and Jeff catches it, feels it where his skin presses into hers. He lets go and steps back, letting her leave the room without challenge.

All she can think about as she flees the library is that there's something wrong with her. She's broken, and it's Jeff Winger's fault.

* * *

Even on a campus as small as Greendale's, avoiding Jeff is easy. Annie has his class schedule memorized (which is nothing; she knows the schedules of everyone in the group), and as long as she stays away from the faculty parking lot, Jeff's favorite sunning bench south of the Luis Guzman memorial, and the cafeteria from 11:30 am through 1:00 pm, she never sees him outside Anthropology or the study room. And there, the rest of the group continues to act as an amazing buffer between them, and she's able to go nearly a week without exchanging direct communication with him.

Tuesday evening, the group gathers for an unplanned study session, since they all have major exams and papers on the horizon. Everyone studies quietly for once, and Annie, lost in her own private bubble of memorization and review, looks up and realizes that hours have passed, and that she and Jeff are the only ones left in the room. She watches Jeff's profile warily, wondering if she should leave, but he's grimacing at his scientific calculator, so she turns back to her Chemistry flashcards.

It's not long, though, before Jeff, bored and restless, starts flipping pages and sliding his chair around. Annie can read his usual cues, and she knows that he'd like to be entertained or encouraged, but she ignores him.

"So, how're things going with you and Greendale's resident pottery ringer?"

Annie taps her cards on the table with a little more force than she probably should. One bends. "We've gone on one date. It's too soon to tell."

"Never too soon to tell whether or not someone's a douchebag."

"I think your dislike of Rich is farcical."

Now that the conversation is rolling, Jeff abandons all pretense of studying, and props his feet comfortably on the table, first nudging aside one of Annie's textbooks with his toe. She frowns at him and moves it from his reach, but he ignores her pique and says, "There's something about him I can't stand, so I don't fight it."

"You don't even know him!"

"Defensive, much? Are you sure things are going well with ol' Potterywood?"

Annie won't meet his gaze.

Jeff's feet hit the floor with a thump as he leans forward to scrutinize her. "What did that jerkwad do?"

"Nothing! Nothing. It's just that – well, I don't know if I like him like that." She hates how childish that sounds.

With a smirk, Jeff reclines again, and she feels compelled to continue, so she says, still prim, "I'm not attracted to him."

That elicits a snort. "Who _would_ be?"

"That's unfair, Jeff! He's a very nice-looking man." She studies her ballet flats, rubbing the scuffed tip of one against her ankle, and keeps her head down as she mumbles, "I think there's something wrong with me."

"Ridiculous."

"No, it's not." Mustering her courage, Annie looks him full in the face. "I can't start a relationship with anyone, because I can't stop thinking about you."

Jeff flinches a little, like she knew he would.

"I'm not going to go all crazy Annie on you, don't worry," she says, trying to maintain her dignity.

"Hey, it's okay, I get it, but I think you're looking at things all wrong here. It's like that ducks and geese thing Troy's studying. Imprinting." Jeff waves his hand like he does when he feels as if he's making an important point. "You think you imprinted on me, but it's just a case of what turns you on and what doesn't. Rich doesn't – no surprise – so you just need to keep looking until you find someone who will," he finishes, not unkindly.

The longer he talks, the angrier she gets. Possessed by a blind fury, Annie stands up and starts sweeping highlighters, flashcards, and textbooks into her backpack, with no regard for order. Without deigning to speak to him, she stalks to the door, but just before she exits, he calls her back.

"Annie, wait."

She turns toward Jeff, and he's standing there, hand extended and a rueful smile twisting his mouth. "You forgot your pen."

In his palm is her last purple gel-grip pen, a twin of the one that had caused so much havoc a few weeks earlier. Annie stares at it for a few seconds, then looks up at Jeff. She moves forward as if to take it from his hand, but instead takes another step into his personal space, stands on tiptoe, and presses her lips to his.

Jeff doesn't respond, so Annie tries again. His lips are sealed and unmoving against hers, and when she puts her hands on his shoulders, he draws back from her. "Annie, stop."

He's staring down at her with a mixture of bemusement and apprehension, but then something dark comes over his face, and with a harsh exhalation, he bends down and kisses her.

Jeff's never touched her like this before: there's no vestige of the gentleness he's always used. Annie tries to lean into the kiss, but his tongue slides into her mouth roughly, almost choking her. Jeff's arm slides behind her back and pulls her up tight against him, making his shirt buttons press a painful line between her breasts. She's moaning into his mouth, but he doesn't let up, doesn't slow down, and one of his hands slips down to her buttocks where it cups and fondles.

Annie works her hands free from where they're trapped between them and locks them around Jeff's neck.

When Jeff lets go of her and lurches back, they're both gasping for air. With trembling fingers, Annie wipes at her chin, which is sticky with saliva.

Jeff finally catches his breath. "Was that what you wanted?"

There are hundreds of lies and excuses Annie could employ, but she doesn't use any of them to dilute the bald truth of the word she blurts out. "Yes."

She can't read the expressions crossing Jeff's face. His eyes widen and he takes a step toward her, then he scowls and stops short. "No. Annie, we are _not_ going to do this."

"Why not?" All dignity is abandoned; she's pleading here.

"What, do you want me to fuck you up against the wall?"

Annie knows he's being deliberately crude to put her off, but she still cringes and breaks eye contact.

"Look at me."

She does.

Jeff's face has softened, but his voice is still hard. "No matter what you think, I can't give you what you really want."

And with that, he leaves.

Annie bends and picks up her pen from where it has fallen to the floor, forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

If there's anything Annie Edison loves, it's a fresh start. New years, beginnings of semesters, and even Mondays are fodder for her fantasies of improving, putting aside the old, and becoming a better version of herself.

Greendale is the biggest chance to start over she's had so far, and while it's comfortable now and she loves it in a way, it's beginning to lose its newness. It's difficult to tell herself that she can change anything all that much, and she realizes that she has settled into a role there that it will be all too difficult to escape.

Whatever else he may be, Rich represents a fresh start, and as such, is a resource too valuable to ignore. She feels confident that she can teach herself to like him and to enjoy his companionship, because when Annie Edison sets her mind on something, she achieves it.

* * *

Doctor Richard Hornsby, Annie reflects, is the most wholesome-looking man she's ever seen. His hair, freshly shampooed and straight-parted, almost gleams. His teeth definitely do, as if he's just stepped out of a dentist's office post-laser whitening. The shirt and slacks he's wearing still have crisp knife-edge creases from the cleaners, and he's shaved so closely that his face looks as smooth as a girl's.

They've met at a local independent movie theater for their second date. While Rich buys their tickets, he explains, "There's a documentary showing here tonight that's about digging wells in western Africa. It premiered at Sundance, and I've wanted to see it ever since, because some of my buddies who've worked in Ghana are featured in it."

"Oh, wow! So they're part of a volunteer effort?"

"Yes, the same team I'm going to join for a few months next summer." Rich guides her by the elbow as they take their seats in the theater, and confides, "I ordinarily wouldn't take someone to a film like this on a second date, because I'd be worried they'd be bored. But I know you're interested in this kind of thing, so it's good to be able to come with you."

After the film, they discuss it while drinking coffee in Rich's car. He tells Annie more about his friends who were involved in the project, and says, "Maybe you'd like to join the team this summer and come with us to Ghana. Aside from digging wells, we'll be administering medical aid and establishing a library. I think you'd be great at that, and it would look fantastic on your resume, especially if you enter the medical field. After Greendale, it would be like a fresh start."

Annie wonders if Rich would be so eager if he knew about her stay in rehab, or any of the real reasons why she's still at Greendale. But still, she warms to the idea, and envisions herself as she would be in Africa and with Rich: a better person than she is now, moderate, even-tempered, generous, and experienced in all the best things. Genuinely mature.

She's a breath away from asking Rich for more information so she can start to make plans, when he sets his coffee in a cup holder and leans closer. "Have I told you yet how pretty you are, Annie?"

Rich's face looms closer, eyes already closed. His breath smells like milk, and Annie realizes, suddenly and irrevocably, that she never wants him to touch her. She edges away from him, but Rich keeps advancing, his hand now clutching at hers. Annie gropes at the car door for the handle, finally wrenching it open and letting cold air flood the car's warm interior.

Almost falling in her haste to get away, Annie pauses only to look back and say, "I'm sorry, Rich. I can't do this." As she sprints toward her car, the clicks of her heels echo through the empty parking lot.

Rich doesn't call her again.

* * *

With finals approaching, Annie tries to forget everything she's bad at (Rich, Jeff, men, being a better person in general) and turns to everything she's good at. Which is studying. In a hidden corner of the library, against the back wall where the study carrels would be if Greendale had students industrious enough to use them, she sets up camp. No one disturbs here there, ensconced between Library of Congress call numbers CC140 (Forgeries of Antiquities) and CJ1509 (Medieval and Modern Numismatics).

No one, that is, but Troy. Midway through a planned three-hour review session, he pokes his head around a set of shelving. "Annie!" he hisses. "Hey!"

Startled, she looks up. "What?"

"What are you doing here?" he stage whispers. Ordinarily no one at Greendale pays attention to the traditional "silence in the library" rule, but ever since Dean Pelton has started making twice-hourly loudspeaker announcements emphasizing the need to make the library an area conducive to study, Troy and Abed have taken it upon themselves to follow the Dean's commands to the letter. Of course, their whispers are usually drowned out in the library by the sound of the Dean's own voice.

"Studying," Annie replies, speaking normally. It's not as if there's anyone nearby to disturb.

"Why aren't you in the study room with the rest of us?"

"Are you actually studying in there, or are you doing what you usually do?"

"What we usually do is be awesome. But we can't really study without you."

She sighs and puts down her pen. "I'll come in later."

"Great! I'll stay with you and wait." Troy flops into the other chair she's dragged over, the one she likes to put her feet up on. He looks around and nods. "I like it here with all these books. It's peaceful, like no one's been back here in years."

"At Greendale? No one has."

"Only you, Annie. That's why we need you. This Anthropology final? I don't know, man. Who knows what Duncan's going to do?"

Troy has changed so much since they've been at Greendale that most of the time Annie finds it hard to remember that he was the unattainable object of her fantasies at Riverside, but the way he grins over at her now is so like the boy she used to know that she feels a pang of nostalgia. Annie says, "Do you ever wonder how we ended up here? How different things might have been if we'd gone to real universities?"

"Nope," Troy says without hesitation. "It's great here most of the time. I get to do stuff like play paintball and go into space, and I'm living pretty much on my own." At that, Annie scoffs, but he continues with an air of injured dignity. "Football is fun again. I had Annie's Boo- ah, I mean a pet monkey, and I mean, that's awesome, you can't argue. And I've got a bunch of weirdos to hang out with who are so uncool that I always look more dope when I'm around them." He leans back into the chair, content. "It's true what they say. College is _so_ much better than high school."

Annie rankles at his blithe acceptance. "So it's fine? You don't wish you'd used your scholarship? You're happy with this?" She waves her hand, meaning to encompass both the library's state of dilapidation and the general Greendale malaise.

He rolls his eyes. "I think you think about things too much. We've got it okay here, so let's go with it." Troy glances down at his cell phone. "Hey – Abed and I are growing a crystal Christmas tree. I've gotta go feed it so it keeps growing." Before he leaves, he turns back to her. "Don't worry about things, okay, Annie? We're cool. It's all cool."

* * *

On December 14, the last day of finals, Shirley, Britta, and Abed corner Annie and announce that they're throwing her a small twentieth birthday party that night in the rec area of Abed's dormitory. Last year, Annie had kept her birthday a secret from the group, not because she wouldn't have loved the attention and fun of a party, but because she had the sneaking fear that they'd either ignore it, or do something sad and pitiful that would be easy for most of them to ditch at the last minute. And it's not like she'd announced the date to them this year either, so she suspects that someone has been rifling through the pages of her day planner.

Looking at the faces around her with their varying levels of suppressed glee, she finds she doesn't mind a bit.

"You're practically grown up this year, so we may have some _adult_ beverages." Shirley beams and sways from side to side as if she's dancing with herself, like she does when she's excited.

"She means that Troy wants to bring Four Loko for us to try," Abed explains.

"Yeah, _that's_ classy," Britta drawls. "Besides, whatever happened to mixing vodka and Red Bull to get really wasted?"

"If Troy were here he'd say something that would make you laugh and stop being irritated, but I don't know what that is," Abed contemplates. "I could go get him for you."

"Oh, do you think I'm irritated?" Britta asks, her voice deceptively calm. "Did you get that from reading your little _chart_ about my predicted _emotions_ based on my _hormone_ levels?"

"Guys!" Annie interrupts. When she has their attention, she says, "No one's ever done anything like this for me before. So - thank you."

She can't hide the quaver in her voice, and Shirley says, "Oh, An-nie!" and Britta rocks from heel to toe and reaches out as if to pat Annie's arm but stops short, awkward, and Abed looks on, nodding with satisfaction.

The party is the night before the residence halls close for winter break, so they have the building's common area almost to themselves. Britta and Shirley bring two dozen cupcakes frosted in red and green. (Shirley explains to Annie, "We tried to get pastel colors, but this is all the bakery had, because it's, well, the holidays," she finishes, uncharacteristically politic.) In spite of Troy's Four Loko threats, he shows up with Jack and Coke, the Jack a contribution from Pierce's capacious liquor cabinet. Abed brings ice and a sleeve of cups.

Jeff doesn't come.

Annie tells herself that it doesn't matter, and that she's having a wonderful time, and that she's not the same girl who went into hysterics when Jeff abandoned her Halloween party last year. Instead, she sips at her drink, and laughs as she watches Troy and Abed re-enact scenes from _A Christmas Story_. Troy creates a creditable bunny suit out of pink Kleenex and a pair of Abed's pajamas before the whole thing devolves into a demented _Harvey_ scenario.

That's when Jeff shows up, coming into the room so quietly Annie doesn't notice at first, but then she sees him, and the harsh fluorescent lights in the room suddenly glow bright and warm, and even the dingy walls with their bloated Santa decorations seem charming.

Britta, who had been on her way out so that she could meet a date, rushes over and begins castigating him for his lateness, but Jeff raises his hands and moves back from her as if he wants to avoid the situation. Annie's too far away from them to follow the conversation, but she catches "rude" and "Annie" and "Here now, okay?" and "Deal with this later."

Britta leaves in high dudgeon, and Jeff comes over to Annie. "Happy birthday. Sorry I'm late. Something came up."

This close, Annie can see that his face is haggard underneath several days' growth of beard. She hasn't seen him since they took their Anthropology final last week (which, yes, had involved YouTube videos), and wants to ask him what's wrong, but she knows better. "Thank you."

Jeff pulls a small parcel out from under his coat and hands it to her. "I was in Staples and thought about getting you a gift card, but I was pretty sure I knew what you'd buy with it, so I cut out the middle man."

She'd asked everyone not to bring presents, but still can't conceal her excitement. Underneath the paper is a leather-bound 2011 planner and a blister pack of purple gel-grip pens.

"Now you can keep track of when all my papers are due for me next year, too," Jeff teases.

"Thank you so much, Jeff!" Annie steps forward to hug him, but he immediately takes an equal step back, keeping his distance from her.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, covering over his rebuff. "I'll get you a refill. Did Troy really bring Four Loko?"

"It's Jack and Coke," Annie admits. Jeff raises an eyebrow, but he takes her cup and heads to the refreshment table.

Pierce is getting ready to leave, Shirley is cleaning up the remnants of the cupcakes and the pink bunny suit, and Troy and Abed have moved on to a spirited debate about which stop-motion Christmas movie is best. "_Rudolph_!" Troy says, his voice rising to a howl, but Abed is implacable.

Jeff rejoins her, two cups in his hands, and gives Annie's back to her. She takes a drink and grimaces anew at the taste of the alcohol.

"Did Pierce bring this?" Jeff asks.

"Troy did, but it's from Pierce's house."

"Good. Then it's Pierce who's supplying alcohol to minors."

"I am twenty now, Jeff," Annie says, defensive.

"Still underage to drink."

"Still old enough to know what I want." She's not sure why she's belaboring the point with him, but she guesses that neither of them is thinking about the drinking age.

Shirley comes over. "Happy birthday, sweetie," she says to Annie, offering a side hug. "I have to go home to my boys."

Annie thanks her for the party.

"See you next year!" Pierce crows as he rolls by, the remnants of the whiskey clutched in a bottle between his casts.

"Don't drive that thing drunk!" Jeff yells after him. "I'm not in practice any more and no one else will be able to get you off if you get pulled over."

"I already called the campus safe ride for him," Shirley confides.

"Merry Christmas," Annie says to her.

"Happy Hanukkah," Shirley replies.

Hanukkah is over, but Annie accepts the concession in the spirit in which it is given.

Shirley's departure leaves Jeff and Annie alone in the room, although Annie can hear Troy and Abed's blips and bloops as they beatbox together somewhere else in the building.

She's anxious, the memory of what happened the last time they were alone together fresh in her mind, but Jeff seems to have no such qualms. He sits on one of the sofas facing the bank of windows lining one wall, and Annie joins him.

The windows overlook the parking lot of the mega church that encroaches on Greendale on two sides. Most of the last snowfall has melted off, but the piles pushed up by the snowplows remain, the ice crystals in them sparkling under the street lamps.

Annie settles into her corner of the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her. Jeff tilts his cup back, trying to get the last drops of his drink, and the ice in it cascades down, hitting him in the face. He coughs and sputters and laughs, and Annie does too.

Jeff smiles over at her. "This is better."

Annie smiles back, wants to agree, but he holds her gaze a beat too long and their smiles fade.

There's a hot, hungry itch under her skin, the kind that she once would've soothed with a tiny blue-and-white capsule. That's not what she wants now. Annie twists her cup around in her hands. She knows she shouldn't say what she's about to say; would never say it if her tongue weren't loosened by alcohol. "I thought about what you told me."

"What did I tell you?" Jeff looks out the windows, as if studying details that it's too dark to see.

"About not being able to give me what I want."

"Annie," he says warningly.

"Wait, listen!" she pleads. "I know you'll never be my boyfriend or anything, it's all right, it's okay, I understand." Annie realizes she's blabbering, so she pauses, takes a breath, and attempts to gather her straying thoughts. "It's just that – maybe that's not what I want. Not all of it, anyway. But I read about something last year in my Psychology class, and, well," she sits up straighter and recites, "patients who exhibited signs of fixations or phobias were treated with exposure to the highly desired or feared situation, and subsequently the symptoms of mental distress were lessened, in some cases followed by a complete cessation of unhealthy interest or fear."

Jeff's staring at her, flabbergasted. "First of all, how do you do that, and second of all, that was the weirdest proposition I've ever gotten in my life. That _is_ what you mean, right? You want to have sex so that you can, what, get over me?"

Annie nods mutely, grateful that he's laid it out in plain language so that she doesn't have to.

Jeff hunches forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. "This is insane," he mumbles into his palms.

She folds her hands in her lap and looks down at them, studying every detail. Her nails need filing. Maybe she should paint them, she thinks, now that she has time off from school work. Annie scrabbles desperately for any stray thought, anything to keep her mind off of the man sitting on the other end of the sofa.

He lifts his head. "Annie, I can't do it."

Annie nods once. "It's okay. I didn't think you'd want me."

Jeff gets to his feet, bends down and picks up her cup from where she had set it on the floor, and walks off. She can hear twin thuds as he drops the cups into the trash, and she's sitting there, numb, hoping he'll leave without speaking to her again, when she realizes he's back at her side.

"You're wrong," he says. "Come on."

"I have a car."

"No, you're coming with me."

"What?" she turns to him.

"I thought you wanted to do this. You're the one who's always going off book."

* * *

Annie follows Jeff through the parking lot to his car. He hasn't spoken to her again; hasn't touched her. He doesn't open the passenger door of the Lexus for her, although he does lean over to press the button that activates her seat warmer.

What seemed like such a fantastic idea in the warm, alcohol-blurred privacy of the rec room seems ridiculous now. It's not that she doesn't still want him: she does. But Jeff's face, tight and angular under the flickering light of the passing street lamps, might as well be the distant face of a stranger, and she can't conceive of the fact that he's driving her to his apartment so that they can have sex. Again, it's ridiculous.

She likes to have every detail planned out; to picture every angle in her mind before it happens. She doesn't want to remember all the conversations with Jeff she's had in her mind, one-sided affairs that consisted of her pouring out her deepest thoughts to a sympathetic, imaginary Jeff who quickly devolved into a sham receptacle, like her own brain vomiting into itself.

She's imagined sex with Jeff, too. Reality clouded by a haze of passion, they would kiss, their clothes falling away effortlessly. Then he'd be looking down at her, smiling like he wants to be with her always. At some point, he'd murmur, "I love you." It's beautiful, and it's warm, and it's perfect.

She's shivering in Jeff's apartment, toeing off her flats and trying to roll her tights down from under her waistband without taking off her skirt first. And then Jeff touches her, and it's like being caught in something that's too overwhelming to resist. It shouldn't be a surprise: there's too much pent-up tension and need for them not to get swept up in the cataclysm.

But Jeff isn't yielding, and doesn't let things happen the way Annie thinks they should. He won't turn off the light; watches as she finishes undressing instead of looking away politely; and when he backs them toward the bed, one of his hands skimming up her thigh, he won't let her pull him down on top of her. Instead, she finds herself straddling his lap, naked and feeling utterly exposed.

Annie fights him, trying to reverse their positions, but Jeff grips her upper arms, and lifting his mouth from her breast, says, "You wanted this, Annie. You have to take it."

She's almost crying at the intensity, but Jeff's still watching her, waiting, forcing her to make the next move. Then she pushes her hips down, taking him inside of her, and she's choking back a sob of relief as his fingertips dig into the tops of her thighs.

She wants to close her eyes, but she can't, if her senses have zeroed in on Jeff as the only thing that currently exists. His face and body fill her frame of vision, the taste of his skin lingers in her mouth, and every tiny movement emphasizes the way her inner muscles are stretched to accommodate him. It's like overdosing on Jeff Winger.

Annie wants more.

When she lifts her hips again, he doesn't hesitate to thrust up into her. She clenches down around him, and Jeff groans.

"Oh, fuck. _Fuck_."

There's a note of desperation in his voice that she can't miss, and the knowledge that it's _her_ doing this to him, that he does want her, only if on the most basic level, sends a fresh wave of arousal washing over her.

Annie tries to move, but Jeff holds her against him, stilling her, and says, his lips against her ear, "You think doing this is going to end things between us. It doesn't work that way."

She doesn't care, doesn't acknowledge that he's said anything as she tries to twist out of his grasp. He lets go of her then and she rocks her hips against him, moving shamelessly, needy and panting. Jeff presses his fingers against her clit, and she comes with a high, sharp breath. It's beautiful, and it's warm, and it's perfect.

Jeff gasps and shudders beneath her, his face, for once, as naked and vulnerable as his body.

Eventually he lifts her and lays her beside him on the bed. When Annie thinks she can move, she tries to get up, only to find herself trapped by a long arm at her waist.

"Don't go," Jeff says. "Stay."

He removes his arm before reaching over and clicking off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Annie turns her face into the pillow. It smells like Jeff's hair product. She feels impossibly awkward, having no idea what she's supposed to do now. What she wants to do is leave, but then she remembers that she got here in Jeff's car. Maybe she can call a cab.

Jeff says, "I was late for your party because my mother had a stroke last night."

"What? Jeff! Is she all right? Why didn't you tell us?" Her voice rises to a high pitch of surprise.

"They don't know yet. She's still in intensive care. Here, are you cold? Where'd the edge of the sheet go?" He pulls the blankets back so she can get under them before rejoining her on the narrow bed.

"Why didn't you let anyone know?" Annie asks again, quieter this time.

Jeff's on his back, and doesn't look at her. "I hadn't seen her in over a year, since I was disbarred. It was too easy to call her once in a while and keep up the lie. Then I got the call this morning from the hospital. Her cleaning woman had to drive her there." He rolls over, facing her. "I didn't want to bother any of you with it."

"Where does she live?" Annie ventures. "Have you seen her?"

"In Denver. A thirty-minute drive from here." Jeff chuckles bitterly. "I could've spent the night at the hospital. Maybe I should have. But you know me, I like to be comfortable. And I knew you'd be furious if I missed your party."

Annie feels guilty. "You didn't have to come."

"Do you think I would have if I didn't want to? Besides, I had to get away. I couldn't stay there. But if I hadn't gone, I never would've let this happen. I should probably apologize to you."

"No, don't!" Without thinking, Annie puts her hand over Jeff's mouth to silence him. She can't stand it if he shifts into his usual mode of backtracking and evasion; she'll start to cry and make a bigger fool of herself than she has already.

He grasps her wrist and lifts it enough so that he can speak. "Okay, Annie. Okay. Let me breathe."

She pulls her hand back but he keeps his grip on her arm. It's not like he's holding her hand. He's not. But he doesn't let go.

"Did it work?" Jeff says finally.

"Did what work?"

"Your theory. Are you over me now?"

"I don't know yet." She doesn't; hasn't had the time or desire to reassess her feelings.

"I'm sure you'll let me know when you do." He sounds sleepy. "Annie?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell anyone about my mother, okay? Let me deal with it."

"All right."

Annie listens to his breathing until it becomes slow and regular. Jeff's hand stays on her arm. At some point, she falls asleep.

* * *

Midmorning on December 25th, Jeff Winger shows up on Annie Edison's doorstep.

Squinting into the sun reflecting off the fresh snow, it takes her a moment to reconcile to the fact that he's actually there. In her mind, he'd remained where she'd left him that morning ten days ago, asleep in his bed, waiting in a hibernation of sorts for the beginning of the spring semester, but of course that's silly, she realizes now. Of course he's been up and out and doing the mysterious things he does when he's not at Greendale.

Annie hasn't spoken to anyone else in the group, either. They all seem to avoid each other during breaks, as if the temporary cessation of classes also calls for a breather from their strange, tenuous network of friendship.

All of which makes Jeff's appearance today that much stranger.

"Hey," he says. "I hope you weren't in the middle of some family thing."

"Hanukkah's over. I'm not doing anything important."

"I thought so, but – you don't do anything today?"

"Nothing," she says flatly. "What were you doing on the evenings of the first of December through the ninth?"

"Nothing, I guess. Watching TV."

"There you go." Annie's striving to be very matter-of-fact; anything to conceal the fact that it her face is feverishly hot and that it feels as if her heart's leaped up to somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

She isn't over him, of course. Annie thought she might have been the morning she sneaked out of his apartment and called a cab, feeling very smug and worldly. That feeling lasted for approximately three hours. She knows she's not in love with him, not really. Not yet. But Jeff had been right. Sleeping with him had only made it worse. And even she had never really believed that her silly psychological theory was anything more than an excuse to get what she really wanted.

"I have a favor to ask you." Jeff's usually never this hesitant, and Annie can't imagine what he might need that doesn't pertain to coursework.

"What?"

"It's about my mother. She's being transferred to inpatient rehabilitation." He stops there.

"Oh. I was going to ask you how she is. Is she better?"

"Yeah. She'll need more of her personal things now that she's in her own room and aware of what's going on, though. I figured you'd love the chance to flex your organizational muscles during the winter break and help me decide what she needs." Jeff flashes the kind of smile he's used to con her into completing dozens of assignments for him.

Annie doesn't even try to resist it. "Okay. Let me get my coat."

Once at his mother's condominium, though, Annie begins to suspect that Jeff didn't bring her with him just to share the workload. He hangs back at the door, key in hand. "Hey, you feel like coffee? I want some coffee. Let's do that first."

"Were you going to spend all Christmas Day alone, Jeff?" Annie confronts him.

"What? No!" Jeff scoffs. "I've got plans later."

"What plans? Name the people."

"You don't know them. People from the firm. What difference does it make?"

"Really," Annie says. "The same people from the firm who we met at that dinner? Ted? _Alan_? Do you know what I think? I think you have nothing to do today, and that you brought me here so that you wouldn't have to be alone, and now that we're here, you don't want to face this, either." She plucks the keys from his unresisting hand, unlocks the door, and pushes her way in.

Annie is greeted by a blast of near-tropical air from the central heating, and décor to match, with shells, watercolor paintings, and swathes of striped linen everywhere, like she's entered the home of a Floridian refugee in a Denver suburb.

"Sorry about the whole _Cougar Town_ thing," Jeff says as he follows her in and lowers the thermostat. "It's gotten worse since the last time I was here."

Annie looks around uncertainly. "Where do we start?"

"I've got a some printouts here with suggestions from the hospital."

"Good! I'll make a list."

Jeff looks down at her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "Of course you will."

When they've finished hauling the last suitcase out to the Lexus, Jeff says, "You were right. I didn't want to do this, especially not alone."

Annie shrugs, but warms inside. "That's what friends do. You could've asked anyone in the group to help you."

Jeff opens the passenger side door for her, then walks around to the other side and gets in the car with her. "On Christmas Day? Yeah, right. You know even Pierce and Troy and Abed are holed up somewhere watching animated specials."

"Good thing you have a Jewish friend, then."

"It's not just that." He pauses. "That's why – I didn't want to ruin our friendship. Sex usually does."

"You seem to do fine with Britta," Annie says smartly, blinking to keep her eyes from stinging.

Jeff rubs the back of his hand over his face and sighs. "It works with Britta because we have the same outlook on things. With us, it's something that happened, and that's it. This is different and you know it. That's why I think we should admit it was a mistake, and try to get back to normal."

"Like you did after we kissed last May, only on a bigger scale?" Annie doesn't wait for his response. "No. No matter what happens between us, things will be different, and I'm glad. When I was with you, it was like being outside myself. Like all the things I usually worry about were gone."

"You don't need me for _that_," Jeff says dryly.

"That's not what I meant!" Annie protests, embarrassed. "Not all of it, anyway. But – Troy told me something. He said that I shouldn't worry about things so much or overthink it all; that I've got it pretty good. I know he's right, but I can't do that. But when I'm around you, I can. Sometimes. That's all I meant."

Annie expects Jeff to say something flippant, but he doesn't speak. Instead, he reaches over, tucks her hair behind her ear, touches her cheek. His hand lingers for a moment, then he reaches down and opens the console that's between them.

"These are yours."

Annie looks down to see the day planner and pens he'd given her for her birthday.

"You left them the last time you were in here," Jeff says, deceptively casual. "I wasn't sure if you wanted them, but I brought them just in case."

"I do want them." Annie's fingers close around the smooth leather cover of the planner, and for the first time, she realizes the significance of the gift, and what Jeff had said when he'd given it to her:

"_Now you can keep track of when all my papers are due for me next year, too."_

It's probably as close as Jeff will ever come to admitting he wants her in his life.

Annie pops one of the pens from its plastic case, opens the planner, and bracing it against her knees, writes on January 20, 2011, "_First day of class_," and under that, "_Confirm study group meet-up time_."

For now, it's enough.


End file.
